


Hell is a Messy Kitchen

by Cthulhuoflongisland



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Roadrat Secret Santa, Suggestive themes but no banging, demon/priest AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 05:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13287621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cthulhuoflongisland/pseuds/Cthulhuoflongisland
Summary: Jamison doesn't know how to bake anything without creating wanton destruction. Mako is tired.





	Hell is a Messy Kitchen

He has welcomed evil into his home, and now there’s no choice but to suffer the consequences.

 

The sticky, sticky consequences.

 

“ Put the molasses down.”

 

Black eyes look up at him from the abhorrently filthy countertop. If Mako didn’t know any better, he’d say he missed the mixing bowl completely. There’s flour all over him, and a forked tongue darts out to lick the cloves from the corner of his mouth. The jar of molasses stays firmly between his claws.

“ Can’t do that, mate. Recipe says-”

Mako swipes the jar from his hands, ignoring Jamison’s squawk of protest. This kitchen has seen enough disaster for one day, and he’s not about to break out the steel wool if he doesn’t have to. He looks Jamison , who’s covered horn to hoof in a mess of different powders, up and down, and feels a new level of exhaustion dawn on him. 

“ I said to pick any recipe  _ but _ the gingerbread. We both know you can’t be trusted with that.”

“  _ I  _ can’t be trusted?” Jamison looks affronted, putting on his most exaggerated ‘I’ve-never-committed-a-single-sin-in-my-life’ face as he reaches for the molasses, “ You’re the one lettin’ a demon participate in the church bake sale. What’s the big man upstairs gonna say about that a few years down the line, huh?”

Mako raises the jar over Jamison’s head, unyielding. “ Touch the damn molasses again and you’ll find out sooner than that.” He easily shuts the stuff in a high cupboard, looking wearily at the pouting agent of terror glaring up at him.

“ I was doin’ fine ‘til you came home,” Jamison snorts and gestures to the bowl of smashed together butter, sugar, flour, and obviously unmixed spices, “ But you had to go an’ interrupt.”

Mako doesn’t bother to ask how he managed to make such a mess. It’s a useless question, since the answer doesn’t matter. What really matters is how the hell he’s going to clean with one arm and keep a demon away from the cabinets with the other. 

“  You were ten seconds away from complete chaos. It’s more like divine intervention,” Mako says, patting the claws Jamison’s got dug into his arm with a certain resignation. Jamison’s sulking is suddenly defaced by a loud snort, and then a louder giggle. He withdraws his hand and clings to Mako, tracing along his arm.

“ Don’t think He’s about to intervene for  _ your  _ kitchen, with all the blasphemy that’s happened in the other rooms.” He’s now attempting to climb Mako like a tree, baking wrath seemingly forgotten. “ Ain’t exactly like you’re his favorite ,  are you?”

“ Not like you’d know.” Mako rolls his eyes, the worst of his irritation fading at the sight of Jamison’s tail going back and forth like a cat’s. He’s high enough to wrap his arms around Mako’s shoulders,draping himself over his broad back, but instead of shaking him off and letting him yowl like the beast he is, he tolerates his weight, bending over the sink to reach the sponge and paper towels. 

“ Mate, I don’t need to page him to know he’s got a distaste for crooked priests,” Jamison casually lays his head in the crook of Mako’s neck, “ ‘Fact, you’re crooked as they come. You might be his  _ least  _ favorite.”

“ I’m housing a big red nuisance, not preparing human flesh for consumption. I could be a lot more crooked,” Mako says, giving him a look, “ What’s it matter to you how high up I am on His list, anyhow? You involved in some kind of betting pool?”

“ Just makin’ observations.” Jamison yawns, hiding a grin against Mako’s skin. He traces a claw up and down Mako’s neck. “ Plus, you’re the one bringin’ up divine intervention.”

Mako starts at the mess on the kitchen table without replying, tolerating Jamison’s heavy presence with saint-like patience ( though not saint-like enough to repel him). He lets them shift into comfortable silence, permitting the tie to be slipped from his hair without complaint. He thinks,briefly, that he ought to make Jamison clean up his own damn mess, even if that risks another more catastrophic one, since he’s the one who made it. But he keeps on anyway. It’s almost relaxing to clean with Jamison calm and yawning like an especially pleased cat instead of jittering around destroying his marble countertops.

Of course, he can’t stay quiet for long, even as he cards Mako’s soft, loose hair through his deadly fingers. He tilts his head , horns bumping against Mako as he watches him work.     “ You got home late tonight.”

“ Yeah.”

“ Didn’t even take off your cassock.”

“  _ Yeah, _ because I thought you might be summoning a friend for yourself when I opened the door and heard you. Dunno how you managed to make such a racket.”

Jamison tsks and continues to bat at Mako’s hair, as if he’s said something not even worth a response. “ It’s gonna stain, I mean. With all the flour.”

“ Stains come out.” Mako shrugs, rolling his shoulders so Jamison has to squeeze him tight to stay attached. “ I’ll wash it when I’m finished.”

“  _ I mean, _ ” says Jamison, pulling at Mako’s collar like his claws are crooks, “ You should take it off.” He leans in as if he’s about to rake his fangs across Mako’s neck, and Mako can feel the smirk on his face in his bones rather than see it.

He doesn’t look up. “ And who’s gonna clean the sheets afterward? You?” The mess on the table’s been sopped up, so he turns towards the closet across the hall for the swiffer. Much as Mako enjoys those lips on his skin, there’s only so much he can stand to clean in one day, and God knows if his washing machine can handle a demonic presence at its knobs this late at night.

“ Who said anything about sheets?” Mako can feel him twisting and turning around on his back like the serpent he is, laying his head against Mako’s neck as he cleans the mess on the floor. “ We got more than one room t’-”

“ Later.” Mako reaches back to poke Jamison in the cheek, who’s still clinging to him like he weighs the same as a teacup pig. “ This kitchen’s a warzone and those cookies aren’t made yet. Bake sale’s tomorrow, and according to you I’m already on thin ice with God. Wouldn’t wanna take any risks, would we?” 

Jamison scowls again at the mention of cookies, nipping Mako’s neck just hard enough to make him hiss in discomfort and look exasperated. “ I guess we  _ wouldn’t _ , would we, an’ ruin your immaculate kitchen?” His good mood goes sour again, and he pouts against the crook of Mako’s neck. “ I coulda finished by now if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“ I don’t think anything would’ve been finished but my patience,” Mako says, as if it isn’t already rapidly depleting, “ Especially since gingerbread has to be chilled overnight.”

Jamison drums his fingers on Mako’s shoulders like he was made of mahogany, tail swishing behind him so it narrowly misses a glass on the counter.  “ Well the  _ dough  _ would’ve been. Coulda finished it tomorrow morning.”

Mako props the swiffer against the counter, twisting his neck to give Jamison another look as he debates whether or not to continue this argument. It’s getting late, he needs to bring something tomorrow, and his energy is very quickly depleting; with every second of silence that passes, Jamison’s expression falls just a little more, almost as if he was genuinely disappointed.

“ You really wanna make ‘em that bad?” Mako’s face softens, and he feels the beginnings of guilt boil in his gut. Sure, Jamison’s an ancient horror born from Satan’s flesh and risen from God’s shadow, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have feelings. “ Might be easier if it’s a different-”

“ No, it’s gotta be these,” Jamison is already perked up and reaching for the cabinet with those long arms,  the lanky son of a bitch, “ It’s  _ Christmas,  _ Father, an’ we can’t disappoint the children, can we? God would want us to be generous.”

This is what Mako gets for showing him pity. “ God’s gonna see us both burn at this rate. Get off,” Mako tries to shake him, but he wraps both his prosthetic and flesh legs around his waist and goes on reaching, claws clinking against the glass of the molasses jar, “ I’ll get the damn thing myself.”

Jamison titters, finally releasing him and sliding down his back like a fireman’s pole to the floor. “ This part’d be easier if we had an electric mixer.” He casually lays his hands on Mako’s hips, standing on his tiptoes to see over Mako’s shoulder.

Mako sets the jar down on the counter, too focused on unscrewing it to respond to Jamison’s groping. “ It’d be easier if the molasses would mix themselves in, too, but we’re just gonna have to do that ourselves.” He grimaces at the slapped together mess in the bowl Jamison was using, mixing it all together before he starts to measure out the molasses. 

“ The hell d’you mean ‘ourselves’? You’re the one doin’ it.” 

Mako can hear just the tiniest bit of resentment creep back into Jamison’s voice, and he turns around to look him in his smug, handsome face after all that time twisting his neck past his shoulder. “ I’m handling anything sticky. After this, you can do the rest.”

“ Dunno, you didn’t seem t’ mind me sticky last-”

“ Jamison.” Mako pours in the molasses. “ You wanna finish this dough or not? I can only do so many things at once.” 

Jamison tsks and lets go of him, slipping under his arm to rest his unholy elbows on the counter. “ ‘Course I do. Figured we might be able to multitask is all.”

“ Not while we’re handling baked goods ‘ _ for the children’  _ ,” says Mako, mixing as he watches Rat’s claws creep ever closer to the bowl, “ Or anyone, for that matter. Try and focus.”

“ I’d be plenty focused if you’d let me stir for a minute, mate,” Jamison’s horns nearly catch on his sleeve as he shifts, “ but right now all I can do is stare at those big, strong preachin’ arms go back and forth.”

Mako puts his hands up and steps back from the counter, and before he can utter a word Jamison’s on it like he’s been waiting all his life for this moment. 

God have mercy on the tile floor.

\--------------------------------------------------------

With minimal damage to the kitchen, the dough’s made and shoved in the back of the refrigerator, and his cassock gets thrown to the corner of his room while Rat lies yawning in his bed. For all his talk, he’s more than happy to lounge across all his pillows and take up three quarters of the bed, but Mako isn’t complaining. His face is pressed against the sheets and his tail swishes languidly behind him, waiting patiently aside from a few sleepy mutters.

Mako only has to sit on the side of his bed in his boxers before he feels Jamison wriggle and twist himself to lay his head on his lap, like he expects Mako to keep his thighs there all night. He’s still got some flour on his face, but Mako managed to get the worst of the mess off of him with a warm washcloth. 

Mako snorts, ruffling the motherfucker’s hair. “ C’mon. Get off.” He gently pushes him onto his back and over so he can lay down himself, breathing a sigh. After such a long day on his feet, he doesn’t care if his mattress has one too many loose springs. He’s warm and undressed with a scrawny red menace climbing up him like a jungle gym, resting his head in the crook of his neck as Mako pulls the blanket over them both.

“ G’night.” Jamison strokes the loose hair out of his face with another yawn, snuggling close like he wasn’t just crawling around the kitchen like a wild beast half an hour ago. “ You remember to set the alarm?”

Mako grunts, wrapping an arm around his waist, his voice already soft with sleep. “Yeah.”

They’re both silent for a while, until Mako’s nearly drifted off and Jamison’s breathing is deep. A voice, though, jolts Mako awake again when it whispers into his ear.

“ Mako?”

“ Mm?”

He feels a pair of soft lips press against his neck, and then his cheek, until they linger at his own mouth, hesitating.

“...Thanks. For lettin’ me help.”

Mako leans up to finish the kiss, smiling but exhausted. “ Don’t worry about it.” He holds Jamison to him and his eyes close, sleep overtaking him at last.

He’s glad he had someone to help, too.

\-----------------------------------------------------

He forgot to set the alarm.

The gingerbread burns, but Jamison eats it anyway.

Mako pays extra at the bakery to keep up the ruse.

All in all, it’s not such a bad Christmas. 

**Author's Note:**

> U know me, I can't write anything about these two without it ending in falling asleep, kissing or both. Happy (late) holidays, hope you enjoyed. I'm mostly active at cthulhuoflongisland.tumblr.com if u wanna see me post in real time.


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